


Bad Days and Good Nights

by fickle_fics



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, consensual mild sexual violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7443967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fickle_fics/pseuds/fickle_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armand is having a bad day. But his mistress is about to have a very good night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Days and Good Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'rough sex' square for seasons of kink on DW

Grace had been worried since she had received word from Armand to expect him later and to not be wearing anything she minded losing too much. She knew exactly what that meant, both in terms of what was likely to happen later and what was happening right now. It was incredibly rare that Armand made any specific requests, and rarer still that he told her to expect him in this context. She knew he had a lot to contend with, attempting to steer France and keep it on course in the face of Spanish and Italian opposition, and of course there were those damned musketeers and all the challenges they seemed to give him at every possible opportunity. The specifics did not matter though, all that mattered was that her Armand already knew he would need her once the day was over. In many ways it was not a good sign, but in at least one Grace could not help but look forward to his arrival.

 

She had already changed into one of her older corsets and dresses. The ones she wore when she did not want to be noticed. They were easily and cheaply replaced and they meant absolutely nothing to her. 

It had been difficult not to stand by the window waiting for him, but greeting him at the door did not seem fitting for what she was sure he had in mind and so she sat in the parlour, reading as the door burst open and he strode inside, slamming it behind him. Instantly she put down the book and stood.

“My love,” she welcomed him.

Without a word Armand strode over, lifting her easily and carrying her across the room until he had her pressed against the wall.

“My love,” she said again, more breathlessly this time as his hands moved eager and rough over her body, stopping at the neckline of her dress to tear open the fabric.

Grace smiled, chest heaving as he looked at her properly for the first time. She had seen his anger so many times, like a storm brewing under the surface, waiting to explode, but it was different when directed at her, more obvious somehow since he did not have to pretend. It was the fire in his eyes that made her eager for him to carry on.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting his hands fall away from her for a moment as he tried to pull himself together, to regain his composure. It did not matter how much he could trust her, it was the principle of the thing!

“Don’t,” she said, reaching for his hands again. “Armand, do not attempt to calm yourself.”

Opening his eyes he looked down at her. her eyes on his. “I shall leave marks, angel,” he warned.

“And I shall wear them with pride,” she assured him. “Why would I not? Proof that I am yours, my love?”

“And if I hurt you?” he asked.

Grace’s breath caught at the idea. She did not see him enough. He was too busy running an entire country without anyone noticing that was what he was doing. She _longed_ for a reminder, for him to leave something with her while they were apart. “As long as it does not affect my work.”

Armand smiled, his hand cupping her cheek. “One day, my angel, your loyalty and devotion to the cause will be repaid.”

“Armand,” she said, more firmly than she had intended. Did he not realise that this was payment enough? That even if he wasn’t her lover he had already done _so_ much for her. He did not owe her anything at all. She was loyal to him because he deserved, he had _earnt_ it. “Now can we please just carry on?” she asked, turning to face away from him.

Armand nodded, pushing her dress down to her hips as he began to tug at the lacing of her corset, his breath hot and ragged close to her ear. “Your knife?” he whispered, his hand already hiking up her dress. He felt it solid beneath the fabric and smiled. His girl was prepared at all times, even now. It was impossible not to be impressed by that. He slid it out from the band around her thigh and cut through the lacing instead, pulling it apart and letting it drop to the floor. True he had no need to remove her corset nor any other item of clothing for that matter to get to her, but there was something about striping her naked, about tearing off her clothes - he needed the destruction of it, something to take the edge off so he would not truly hurt her.

“Let me see,” he hissed into her ear as he moved away just enough for her to turn.

She stood there, bare from the waist up, her perfect pale breasts exposed to him as he reached up, covered them with his hands, and pressed his fingers into the plump flesh roughly before letting go of one, his hand moving to the lacing of his trousers as he fumbled to undo them.

She loved him like this, so full of need and urgency. He kept everything so controlled normally - knowing she had the ability to make him lose that meant more than any words he could ever say to her.

Her breath caught as he released himself, already hard, his now free hand moving to push her skirt out of the way as he closed in, rubbing his fingers firmly against her before positioning himself and thrusting hard into her with a long, drawn out groan. The moment he was inside her he started to pound her mercilessly against the wall, one hand squeezing her breast as the other moved over her side, short nails scraping at her flesh as he let out all his pent up anger on his angel’s body.

He was so much stronger than he looked, that was the thing. So many people seemed to dismiss him as a weak old man, using others as his brute force but those people were idiots, and Grace knew better than anyone that was _exactly_ what he wanted them to believe. He was not weak, he was _smart_ , smart enough to never get his hands dirty, to make sure he was always far enough away from any killing to have no suspicion on him at all. Oh but he had strength. She felt it every time he had her up against a wall or was on top of her, and right now, oh she could feel it more than anything as he thrust against her with all his might.

She was sure he’d never been quite so deeply inside her, and the force he was using against her was sending shivers down her whole body, and much more quickly than usual. He wasn’t hurting her nearly as much as she’d expected, but the feeling of him grabbing at her seemed to add a whole other level to the experience of being with him, kept her mind focused on every nerve ending, every part of her body as finally she clung to his still clothed form.

“Harder,” she breathed. She wanted the marks he’d promised her, the proof that she was his.

“Angel!” he grunted. his hand stilling and gripping at her hip as he continued to piston against her, lost in the sensation of her so tight and hot around him. Adele had never been like this, so wanton, so eager. He should have known she was using him, but Grace, he tried so hard to doubt she loved him but it was impossible. Especially at times like this.

Her nails scratched against the leather of his overshirt as she lifted one leg, hooking it over his hip as she looked at him, his face contorted with pleasure and purpose as he grabbed at her breast.

And then she saw it, the flicker, the momentary change as both hands tightened on her body as he pressed up and in harder still with a cry of ecstasy as he came, his whole face relaxing, quickly followed by his body as she moved her arm around his waist, pulling him against her.

“Armand,” she breathed, pressing closer to him, wanting to keep him close. She glanced down, dark marks visible in the candlelight of the room on her skin. She could not help but smile. “Next time, do not hold back so,” she told him. “You cannot hurt me. You _would not_ hurt me.” She could take anything from him she was more, and more than that she would welcome it.

He pulled her gaze to her face, kissing her tenderly. “Be careful what you wish for, angel,” he whispered. “You recall what I am capable of, do you not?”


End file.
